The Last Empress - Anchee Min [49]
Artfully, Tutor Weng presented the ancient situation to mirror the present. By placing Guang-hsu in the historical moment, he offered a valuable perspective.
Like Guang-hsu, this was the first time I truly comprehended the ancient classic. I realized that the elements Tutor Weng illustrated for my son were at the heart of Chinese morality.
Tutor Weng was near tears when he recited the last paragraph: "'The late Emperor knew that I was a careful person, and it was why he gave me such a grand responsibility. I could not sleep at night, worrying that there might be things I could have done but hadn't.'" Tutor Weng put down his book and raised his chin toward the ceiling and began to recite from memory: "'I am asking to be punished by death if I fail to defeat the northern enemy on this trip. I am leaving you with the dynasty's most intelligent and experienced officers.'" The tutor looked at Guang-hsu. "Join me now, Your Majesty."
Together, student and teacher read: "'I hope you have the mercy to make use of them. As for myself, Your Majesty, I have been given trust and friendship by your father. To devote my life to his son, until the day I die, would be my pleasure and happiness."
It started to happen in my sleep. I could hear the cracking of my thought-jammed skull. I could feel it while dressing or when I sat down to eat. Having "dead thoughts," or being "sick of having the same thoughts," was how I expressed the feeling. It was getting to me. The doctors said that it had to do with approaching old age.
When I was younger, I was used to my dark thoughts. They came and went like companions. I wasn't afraid of them. Often I let myself sink deep into the ocean bed of my mind and explore the murky terrain. Nuharoo said that she had the same experiences and the same sinking feelings. It was why she had turned to Buddhism. It was to save her from falling.
I called myself a Buddhist and even claimed to be able to see the Buddha beyond the wooden statue. In truth, however, I could not. "It doesn't cost much to offer food and animals to every altar in the palace," An-te-hai used to advise. "My lady, worshiping many gods will ensure an abundance of luck."
"Insincerity will be your true misfortune," Nuharoo predicted. "Lady Yehonala, you will never find peace of mind."
I didn't doubt that she was right, so I tried to help myself. Yet often it wasn't Buddha's voice but An-te-hai's that I would hear. "It is the dealing of the inner life cycle, my lady. It is death and birth. You are alive if you are aware of your dealings. But if you feel that you have given up, that is the beginning of the end."
I had always been afraid of spiritual death, so I sought meaning in everyday existence. Tung Chih, Yung Lu and An-te-hai were my elements. Fighting hopelessness had been my existence. I found myself achieving balance and harmony along the way, though I never questioned how I achieved it or whether I was only fooling myself.
I hadn't opened any doors since becoming an empress. In a dream I opened a door. I was surprised to see that red and pink flowers covered my entire courtyard. A heavy rain had fallen. The flowers were whipped down, but they still appeared full of vitality. Their wet heads drank the water from puddles. One by one the flowers began to rise like court officials. Their fragrance was strong, a mixture of gardenias and rotten vegetables.
Li Lien-ying brought in a dream interpreter, who asked what else I had seen in my dream. I told him that I had seen windows.
"What is inside the windows?" the interpreter asked.
"Red- and pink-faced women," I replied. "They squeezed into the windows like a bunch of poison poppies competing for sunshine. Every one of them had an extraordinarily long and thin neck."
The interpreter's hand moved quickly in the air as if taking notes on an invisible pad.
"Whose window was it?" The interpreter closed his eyes.
"I don't remember."
"I am getting